


Trust Falls

by celtic7irish



Series: MCU Kink Bingo Fills 2017 [6]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bondage, Flashbacks, HYDRA sucks, I'm probably forgetting a few tags, M/M, Mentions of Rape, NSFW, Nick can be a bastard, Sensory Deprivation, ambiguous ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-21
Updated: 2018-02-21
Packaged: 2019-03-22 00:22:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13752300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celtic7irish/pseuds/celtic7irish
Summary: The Soldier doesn't trust himself.  He was too dependent on his Hydra handlers.  Nick doesn't trust anybody but himself.





	Trust Falls

**Author's Note:**

> For the MCU Kink Bingo Square O1: Bucky Barnes x Nick Fury

“Last chance, Soldier,” the Director told him, dark eyes boring into him as if he could suss out all the secrets that the Soldier kept hidden.  “If you want to back out, this is where you do it.”  He was holding a heavy half-mask in his hand, and the Winter Soldier took a deep breath before nodding decisively.

 

“Do it,” he said.  He couldn’t be sure, but he thought he saw a flicker of approval in the Director’s eyes, which sent a warm rush of satisfaction through him for getting it right.  Less than a minute later, the half-mask was over his face.  It had been modified a bit, so it didn’t actually prevent him from speaking through it; that part was more of a reminder than a deterrent.  But it _did_ deaden his sense of smell.

 

The blindfold was next, thick and padded so that he couldn’t see anything beyond the darkness.  Strong, capable fingers tested around both the mask and the blindfold to make sure it was both secure and not too tight.  Not that it would have made any difference to the Soldier, but the care that it implied still left him reeling a bit.

 

“How’s your hearing?” Fury asked him.  The Soldier gave a quick nod - he could hear just fine.  Footsteps, then, as the director of SHIELD walked slowly around him.  “Hydra really fucked you up, didn’t they?” the man drawled, but he didn’t seem to be expecting an answer, so the Soldier remained still, tracking the other man’s movements as he paced in a slow circle around the contraption that the Soldier was trapped in, his arms and legs spread out in an X and held in place by thick, wide titanium cuffs.  He had tested the rig’s durability earlier, and had been pleased to find that he couldn’t get the leverage he needed to break out of it, even using all his considerable strength.  That would make it easier on both of them to do what needed to be done.  Hydra hadn’t liked it when he fought, but this man, this Nicholas Fury, didn’t seem to mind his occasional struggles. In fact, he seemed almost smugly pleased when the padded cuffs held and the Soldier stopped fighting.  It had only been after he’d surrendered that Fury had added the muzzle and blindfold.

 

The Soldier listened to the other man moving around, the tap of his boots soft on the cement floor of the room.  Goosebumps raised on his skin, the temperature just cool enough to press against his skin and make him shiver.  It wasn’t uncomfortable, exactly, not like the cold of the cryo sequence, but it was definitely noticeable.

 

“Now, I know you explained how your Hydra handlers did this, but they were assholes. We’re going to try something new,” Fury told him.  The Soldier hesitated, unsure, but then nodded.  “Good,” Fury said.  “You remember the words?”

 

Words, the Soldier knew.  They’d never been for him, though.  Words of obedience, words of control, words of violence and death and hopelessness.  “Red, Yellow, Green,” he recited dutifully.  Then he paused.  “I am unlikely to use them,” he admitted.

 

He didn’t know what expression Fury had on his face, but his tone was carefully neutral as he replied, “No, which is why this has to go to two ways.  You have to trust that I will not do anything that would make you need to use the stop word, and I need to trust that if I _do_ , you will use it.  So this is likely to move more slowly than either of us would like.”

 

The Soldier was already shaking his head.  “There’s no time,” he insisted.  “I can’t fall back into their hands, and I’m a danger to your people.”  A danger to Steve, he corrected in his head.  But Steve’s name was not to be spoken.  Steve Rogers was Captain America. Captain America was his mission.  He had failed his mission.  Maybe if he didn’t say Steve’s name, though, they wouldn’t think to take his name away if they caught him.  Maybe he’d be able to remember.  But only if he never, ever said anything.

 

He hadn’t even realized that his breathing had grown sharp and erratic until a large hand pressed against his back, between his shoulder blades.  Fury didn’t touch him beyond that, but it was enough, and the Soldier stilled under the light pressure, his breathing settling back into a normal rhythm.  “Good,” Fury murmured, something a bit odd in his tone.

 

“Sir?” the Soldier asked.

 

“Color, Soldier?” Fury asked.  The Soldier opened his mouth, and a hand wrapped warningly around the front of his throat.  The Director didn’t cut off his breathing, but he made it clear that he could if he didn’t like what he heard.  “When I ask for your color, I expect honesty.  Understood?” Fury growled, and realization dawned.  The Soldier wouldn’t have to stop it on his own, wouldn’t have to speak up.  The Director would ask, and all he had to do was answer.  That, he could do.  Had done, oftentimes to his own detriment.  Prevarication and lies were not encouraged by his Handlers.

 

“Green, sir,” he said, waiting with bated breath to see what the other man did.  

 

“Good,” Fury praised again, hand moving away from his throat and trailing his shoulders before sweeping down his spine to the curve of his ass.  It didn’t go any lower, though, didn’t threaten to penetrate him, and the Soldier wondered if it was because Fury didn’t want him, or if he was waiting.  A Hydra handler would have already been fucking the Soldier by now, not caring about his discomfort. The Winter Soldier was a toy, to be used and wound up and broken down.  

 

Hands mapped out the divot of his spine and the swell of his hips, tracing down the outside of his legs as the Soldier’s muscles tensed and flexed under the gentle touch.  He kept expecting Fury’s hands to go from exploratory to vicious, but they hadn’t, and it was throwing him off kilter.

 

When those hands touched the tops of his feet, the Soldier’s toes curled, and Fury made an odd sound.  It took the Soldier a moment to place it; Fury was...laughing?  “Sir?” he asked.

 

“Who would have guessed you were ticklish, Barnes?” Fury asked, sounding amused, and the Soldier flinched.  He knew, intellectually, that he was James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes, best friend of one Steven Grant Rogers, but the name was still foreign to him.  Hearing it come from someone else’s mouth was...not unpleasant, exactly, but confusing. It made him a little anxious.  

 

He didn’t know if he made a sound ( _shut up, Soldier, this is for your own good, shut up shut up shut up_ ), but the hands paused where they were.  “Color?” Fury checked in with him.

 

The Soldier hesitated for a moment, unsure.  Fury waited patiently.  “Green, I think, sir,” he said at last.  “I...memories.  They confuse me sometimes.  I’m okay now.”

 

Fury still didn’t move, and the Soldier tensed, wondering if he’d messed up already.  “I’m going to take your word for it this time,” Fury said.  “But the next time those memories hit, I expect you to use your words.  Yellow will be sufficient, just means you need a breather, a moment to recalibrate.  Understood, Barnes?” he asked, seemingly determined to not refer to him as Soldier any more now that they’d started.

 

The Soldier swallowed.  Nodded.  “I understand, sir,” he said.  “Green,” he repeated, feeling oddly more settled than he had a moment ago. Fury pausing when he noticed the change in the Soldier’s breathing had done more to reassure him than the gentle touch that didn’t hurt, didn’t turn cruel and merciless.

 

“Glad to hear it,” Fury told him, then went right back to what he had been doing before.  The Soldier didn’t know where he would touch next.  An elbow, his stomach, the back of his neck, the palm of his hands, the back of his knee.  Some touches were firm caresses, others were gentle and tickling, leaving pebbled skin in their wake, but not a single one hurt or threatened to turn into something less innocent.  Fury would check in with him periodically, the answer always the same.   _Green._ The Soldier found himself relaxing in his bonds.

 

“That’s it, Barnes.  I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.  Just focus on me,” Fury instructed.  He wasn’t touching the Soldier now, but his footsteps circled the chained Soldier at a steady pace, pausing on occasion.  Sometimes he’d reach out and touch the Soldier, sometimes he’d just keep moving after a moment.  And sometimes, he’d just hold his hand just above the Soldier’s skin, or stand close enough to him that the Soldier could feel him as a line of heat in the cold of the room, feel his breath across his skin.

 

And then, it all stopped.  One moment, Fury was very obviously in front of him, and then he was stepping backwards, away from the Soldier, further than he’d been since they’d started.  The Soldier tried to track him, recalling the dimensions of the room, but Fury had gone silent.  The Soldier guessed that he’d removed his boots, though he hadn’t heard him do it.  He tensed as the silence dragged out, stretching out the only sense he had left that might help him - his hearing.

 

For a while, he focused solely on using his hearing.  The mask that muffled his mouth also suppressed his sense of smell, so he couldn’t locate the other man that way.  So he listened for the soft susurration of breathing, but the low hiss of the air circulation system was the only sound he could make out.

 

But as the minutes ticked by, the Soldier couldn’t keep the fear from encroaching, making him tense in his bonds.  He had carefully outlined what Hydra had done to him to the Director, had explained what needed to be done, but now that it was here, he couldn’t help the fear that was slowly creeping up on him. He lost track of time as he tried to control his breathing, tried to remain still and calm and _quiet_.  There wasn’t a whisper of sound outside of his own harsh breathing, and the cooler air sent shivers wracking across his skin, even as it grew slick with sweat from the strain of the position he was in.  In another hour or so, it would start to actively hurt, but for now, most of the discomfort came from him trying not to fight.

 

Eventually, though, he couldn’t fight the memories anymore.  Memories of being chained or strapped down, even his hearing taken from him, touched cruelly and violated, left hurting and in pain.  He had been grateful to be left alone at first, relieved that they were no longer touching him.  But without any of his senses, time had dragged inexorably on, slow and interminable.  He had slowly lost track of time as the minutes turned to hours and the hours to days.  Hunger and thirst had only made things worse, and the Soldier had broken, had screamed and yanked at his bonds, had broken protocol, had _panicked_.  That should have brought swift punishment, but nobody came.  

 

The Soldier had screamed himself hoarse, screamed and begged until he was choking on his own blood from rupturing his vocal cords.  He had been reduced to whimpers, and had finally fallen silent, nearly catatonic.  The hood they’d put over him to dampen his senses kept him from realizing when his Handler walked back in, but he’d been instantly aware when they had touched him, slapping him hard upside the head.  But it was touch, and he had opened his mouth, said something, he didn’t remember what.  And his Handler had removed the hood, had let him see and hear and smell again, had touched him with rough hands, had fucked into him, and the Soldier had been grateful.

 

Afterwards, the Handler had very carefully explained to the Soldier that if he obeyed, he would not be punished, would not be left alone to suffer.  Cryo was not punishment, it was rest, it was safety.  He would sleep, and he would not know that he was alone.  The Soldier had agreed.  And his Handler had sent him out to obtain precious samples and to eliminate the witnesses.  The Starks had died for the Soldier’s weakness.

 

The Soldier could feel his body malfunctioning, jerking against the restraints, bucking futilely.  His mind was full of white static.  He knew that it hadn’t been that long yet - it couldn’t have.  But what did he know about Fury? He worked for SHIELD. He was the head of SHIELD, and SHIELD was Hydra, and Hydra was SHIELD.  Maybe Fury had lied to him, left him here to suffer until he remembered the Soldier existed.  He was alone again. Alone, alone, alone!  

 

“Soldier!” a voice barked, and the Soldier stopped, conditioned to obey, to answer to his name.  “Stand down, Soldier,” the voice said, caught somewhere between annoyed and resigned.  The Soldier shivered as he realized that the man - Fury, his mind supplied - had probably been trying to get his attention for awhile now.

 

His mind was still buzzing, his skin overly sensitive as he strained his senses.  There was a hand on his chest, over his heart, pressed between his skin and the contraption he was bound to.  “Color, Barnes,” Fury reminded him.

 

“Red!” the Soldier replied instantly; it wasn’t even a question. He needed out. Now.  

 

There was a quick click and his metal hand was free.  He used it to grip onto the stand while Fury undid his legs and his flesh hand, allowing him to slide weakly to the floor.  “I’m going to remove the blindfold first, okay?” Fury asked.  The Soldier nodded, and a moment later, he was slamming his eyes shut as the light drilled into his brain.  “Sorry,” the Director murmured, but the Soldier shook his head, curling up so that he was wrapped around Fury, his fingers fisted in the back of the man’s leather jacket.

 

Fury didn’t try to shake him off, or even try to nudge him.  He just shifted so that he could get to the clasp on the face mask and pull it away.  A moment later, a hand was running through his hair.  They stayed like that for several long minutes - time was kind of hazy and fluid right now - before Fury spoke.  “Why didn’t you use your safeword?” he asked, but he didn’t sound angry, just tired.

 

The Soldier flinched anyhow. “I...forgot it,” he admitted.  “I knew I was s’posed to say somethin’, but forgot what.”  He hesitated for a moment, then said quietly, “Thank you for snappin’ me out of it.”

 

“I was starting to worry that I was going to have to risk you injuring us both and cut you down regardless of the state you were in,” Fury admitted after a moment.  The Soldier shuddered; he had told the other man about how he had killed the scientists and Handlers that had unchained him too soon, while he was still panicking, still in fight or flight mode.  He had told Fury not to risk it under any circumstances - even with just his flesh hand free, he was dangerous.  Fury hadn’t seemed terribly concerned, but he’d listened, and the Soldier appreciated it.

 

After another few moments, Fury shifted with a groan. “Damn, I’m getting too old to be kneeling on the floor like this,” he muttered.  “Come on, Barnes, you ready to get up?” he asked.

 

The Soldier considered, then nodded, shifting back just far enough that Fury could climb to his feet, though he didn’t release him entirely.  Fury didn’t seem to mind.  “Over this way,” Fury said, and the Soldier realized that he was wearing just socks, which struck him as being incredibly funny.  He let out a noise that sounded suspiciously like a laugh, and Fury gave him a wry grin.

 

“Yeah, yeah.  Don’t you dare tell the others about this, Barnes,” he said, letting the Soldier get a closer look at the miniature Iron Man helmets that dotted the black socks.  “Stark will never let me hear the end of it.”

 

The Soldier nodded his agreement and followed the director over to a large stuffed chair - where the man had probably been sitting for however long it had taken the Soldier to panic.  There was a pair of sweatpants next to it, and Fury tossed them to the Soldier before sitting down. “Get dressed and then come here,” he ordered.  The Soldier obeyed, noting idly that the room seemed to be warming up.

 

There wasn’t much room left on the chair, but the Soldier didn’t complain, settling himself so that he was more or less curled on top of Fury, the Director running fingers idly through his hair.  “Still the Soldier?” he asked gruffly.

 

“Yes,” he replied.  “No.  Maybe.”  He struggled to find the words, and Fury waited, his hand stroking down along the Soldier’s spine now.  “I….know who I’m s’posed to be,” he said.  “But the Soldier is easier.  It’s harder being Bucky Barnes,” he admitted, frustrated with himself.  “I’m not explainin’ this very well,” he complained.

 

“It’s fine,” Fury said.  “We’ll work on it.  But for now, you don’t feel like killing anyone, right?” he asked.

 

The Soldier snorted.  “No, I don’t feel like killin’ anyone,” he parroted back.  “Not really sure I ever did.”

 

“That’s actually really good to hear,” Fury told him, the praise warming the Soldier.  “We can work with that.”

 

The Soldier nodded, just enjoying the closeness of another body.  He was pretty sure he hadn’t been left alone for more than an hour, but it seemed like it had been much longer.  And Fury wasn’t pushing him away or punishing him or sending him out to kill people.  It was different, but that only made it better. Fury hadn’t left him to suffer on his own, he had been right here the whole time, even if the Soldier hadn’t been able to sense him.  But the effect was nonetheless the same.

 

If Fury gave him a command right now, he’d obey.  He’d do it because Fury had come for him, hadn’t let him die there, helpless and afraid.  He was touching him, petting along his back and arms and face, seemingly unconcerned with the fact that the Soldier had been a wreck just minutes earlier, unwilling to relinquish his hold on the other man long enough the let him get off the cold, hard floor.

 

He didn’t know how long they stayed like that, but he was starting to doze off when Fury shifted again.  “Barnes, ready for your next mission?” he asked, though his tone implied neither impatience or anger.

 

The Soldier lifted his head and blinked at the Director.  The Director who was still touching him, who had promised that he wasn’t going anywhere, that he’d stay.  The Soldier blinked.  Spoke.

 

“Ready to comply.”

 


End file.
